


Ease My Mind

by WithTheKeyIsKing



Series: Sladick Fics [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Assassination Attempt(s), Assumptions, Attempted Murder, BAMF Dick Grayson, Bisexual Dick Grayson, Bisexual Slade Wilson, Bruce Wayne is a Dad (TM), Clark Kent is Out of His Depth, Good Slade Wilson, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Overprotective Damian Wayne, Protective Batfamily, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Slade Wilson, Public Display of Affection, cass is a little ooc cause i didn't know much about her when i wrote this, welllll "good" might be an exaggeration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-04 11:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18342344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithTheKeyIsKing/pseuds/WithTheKeyIsKing
Summary: Five times someone found out about Dick and Slade, and the one time they got to share the secret themselves.(Plus, you know, lots of feelings and shit.)~Sequel to "Greater Sins Did Walk the Earth", but you don't need to have read that for this to make sense.





	Ease My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Ben Platt song, because I was listening to it and it suddenly reminded me of the first part where Dick was struggling emotionally and Slade helped him. (Go check out the song if you have a chance! Really good.)
> 
> Has anyone listened to Ben Platt by the way? He just put out his debut album and it's gorgeous. He's also an actor and Tony winner....I'm a fan.
> 
> Well, hope you enjoy!

**1**

Dick wasn't sure what to do when he made his way into Slade's kitchen to find someone already there.

He was still half asleep, so it was possible he was imagining things, but after rubbing his eyes and blinking hard, there was still a black-haired woman with scars across the right side of her face likes claw marks in front of him, currently digging through Slade's alcohol cabinet.

"Uh," Dick said, staring.

The woman looked over to him, seeming just as surprised by his presence as he was by hers. If he had any doubt as to how (or  _why)_ she'd broken into the apartment, it was washed away when he finally noticed the two swords strapped to her back and the armored, black-and-green outfit she was wearingshe was an assassin, one he'd seen Deathstroke work with a couple times.

Nightwing had fought her once.

Dick was suddenly _painfully_ aware of the fact that he wasn't wearing his mask.

"Well, you're just  _lovely,"_ the woman purred, quickly regaining control of herself. She'd clearly been awake for far longer than Dick had; glancing at the clock  _(6am)_ told him that he'd only passed out about four hours ago, and that was after a long night of crimefightinghe was _exhausted_. Slade had muttered insults the entire way to this safehouse about his lack of ability to meet basic bodily needs, such as sleep.

It wasn't the first time he'd complained about it, and it wouldn't be the last. Part of it was annoyinghe  _was_ a grown adult, after allbut overall it was simply _nice._ It was nice to see incontrovertible proof that Slade seriously cared about him, whenever he was doubting it. Slade took amazing care of him and always snapped at him when he didn't eat or sleep enough. It always made Dick feel a little warm inside.

"Uh," Dick said again, because what the fuck else was he supposed to do in this situation? There was an actual  _supervillain_ stealing his boyfriend's _liquor._

And, ok, _technically,_ his boyfriend was a supervillain  _too,_ but...details.

"Thanks?" Dick followed it up with, because John and Mary Grayson and then Alfred had raised him to be a polite individual.

The woman hummed low in her throat, her eyes dragging up and down Dick's body with a appreciative smirk. Dick's cheeks pinked; he was wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt and yet somehow she'd managed to make him feel quite naked.

"Sorry, but  _what_ are you doing here, exactly?" Dick asked, because at this point he figured it was well within his rights to ask a stranger what they were doing in an apartment that was not theirs. "And who are you?" he added, since at this point he could still pretend to be a civilian, and he didn't remember her name, anyway.

"Dropping in on an old friend," she told him smoothly, her eyes flicking to the bedroom door he'd just emerged from and then back to him with a raised eyebrow. "And my oh my am I _quite_ pleased that I did."

"Right," Dick replied hesitantly. "I'm going to need a  _bit_ more information than that, because you see, you kind of broke in and you have weapons littering your person so I kind of have many, _many_ questions."

The woman cocked her head at him. "You're fucking Slade Wilson and you're not used to being around weaponry? You're either brand spanking new or just plain stupid; which is it?"

And now he was at a crossroads, because clearly this woman was familiar with Slade, and Sladeto the best of Dick's knowledgewas not the kind of person who went around sharing what he did for a living with one-night-stands. And as long as Slade stayed happily asleep in his bed, Dick could easily play this off as being a clueless hook-up who just happened to fall asleep and stay the night.

Dick furrowed his brow, as if confused or wracking his brain. "Was that his name? We didn't do a lot of talking." He grinned at her, sheepish but satisfied, and she barked a laugh. Then he blinked, as if something occurred to him. "Waitwhat did you mean used to being around weaponry?" He eyed her swords warily. "Who the fuck  _are_ you guys?"

She was very fast when she darted forward, and it took every ounce of control Dick had not to follow his instincts and jump back or flip away, or even strike in return. He allowed the woman to pin him against the wall, the blade of a sword against his neck, his eyes wide and panicked, his hands raised in surrender.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," he breathed, shrinking back.

You see, the thing was, was that he was raised by Bruce Wayne. Bruce was a serious, intelligent, no-nonsense kind of person; but in public he was the kind, playboy airhead who wasn't stupid but certainly wasn't the brightest bulb. No one  _ever_ considered Bruce Wayne being Batman because you only had to spend five minutes around the socialite to doubt his ability to find his car by himself, let alone lead the Justice League.

Dick had been raised by that man. So, he seriously knew how to act.

The woman smirked at him, pressing a little closer, and seemed to delight in the way he flinched away.

A slight sound from the bedroom, then, "Angelica, what are you doing here?"

Both the woman and Dick glanced over at Slade, now standing in the doorway, squinting against the light, clothed only in PJ pants. He frowned at their positioning, at Dick's wide, afraid eyes, and the woman's satisfied  _(slightly malicious)_ smile, and sighed.

"Just getting to know your little one-night-stand, here," the woman _Angelica,_ apparentlypurred, her eyes sliding back to Dick's face. "He's so _pretty,_ Wilson; feel like sharing?"

Dick gulped. Slade rolled his eye.

"Kid, get out of the hold," Slade told him tiredly, and Dick scowled at the fact that his boyfriend had made the decision to out him all by himself. He still followed the instruction, though.

Dick drove an elbow into Angelica's stomach and then dropped, ducking under her arm as her body curved from the force of the blow. Dick struck at her arm, taking the sword from her grasp, and then twirled away, going to stand by Slade's side.

She gaped at him. He smirked, twirling the weapon in his hand.

"You tricked me," she observed, quickly regaining her composure, raising her chin. "I'm impressed."

His smile grew and he tossed her sword back to her, which she caught deftly from the air. He then looked to Slade.

"What'd you do that for?" Dick grumbled. "She completely bought my hapless hook-up shtick. I'm not-"

"I know, kid," Slade interrupted, because he did. He knew what Dick was going to say, what his argument was, what Dick's worries and complaints about all of this would be.  _I'm not wearing a mask. She can't know who I am. We can't trust her to keep this secret._ Slade knew him as well as he knew himself if not better, which meant that Dick didn't understand why he'd broken Dick's charade.

But he also trusted Slade enough to have a good reason, and he could wait for whatever that reason was.

"Yes, what  _was_ the point of that?" Angelica asked in a bored tone, her eyes flicking between them, narrowed and thoughtful.

"His family doesn't know he kills people for a living," Slade lied easily, leaning against the doorjam and crossing his arms. "He doesn't know you; safest route was to play clueless, not assassin without his mask. Now what are you doing here, Angelica? Just felt like breaking into my apartment?"

"There was a hit across town earlier tonight," the woman replied, and Dick suppressed the urge to tense. "I'd been paid to take the target out, but he was dead before I got thereI was wondering if it was you."

Slade didn't glance at Dick, but the vigilante could feel his boyfriend suppressing  _his_ urge as well.

"I'll see you around, Angelica," Slade said, not answering the question. She narrowed her eyes at him.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and then Angelica sighed, rolling her eyes. She started moving towards the living room window, the one with the fire escape, but stopped when she was at Dick's side. Her eyes once again dragged up and down his form.

"You've got quite a pretty one, Slade," she hummed, winking at Dick before looking to the other mercenary. "Don't fuck it up. Hope to see you again, lovely!"

Then, she was gone.

Dick whirled around on Slade.

The older man watched him carefully. "You have questions."

"Several!" Dick agreed. "Firstwhy did you break the ruse? I'm not wearing a mask, Slade, I didn't want some mercenary to know I was anything more than a passing fancy in case she recognized me, or spotted me again. Bruce Wayne and Co. are public figures, I-"

Slade stepped forward, cupping Dick's cheeks in his hands, effectively cutting the younger man off.

"Because she was going to kill you," his boyfriend murmured. "Angelica's enhanced like me, and we used to sleep together. If you were just some random fuck and had seen her with her weapons, she would've ended your life and not thought twice about it. Knowing that you're  _someone_ even if she doesn't know whostopped her from simply pressing the blade a little harder and ending your life.

"She also understands what it's like to be a mercenary whose family doesn't knowif she spots you in public someday, she isn't going to go up to Wayne and say  _Your son is a mercenary._ Telling her you were a hero would be a different story, but this she would understand."

That...was pretty reasonable, actually. Though Dick didn't know how he felt about a world-famous mercenary thinking that Dick Grayson was an assassin.

"Oh," Dick said quietly, thinking it over, and Slade nodded, brushing a hand through the younger man's hair.

"Ok?"

"Yea, ok." He licked his lips, then asked, "Next questiondid you kill someone tonight?"

Dick and Slade had been together for about six months now, ever since the mercenary patched Dick up after a pretty bad night, and though Dick had accepted that his boyfriend killed people, it was still hard to hear about after the fact, that somewhere someone was dead because of someone he deeply cared about. Somewhere someone had been murdered and Dick had fallen asleep in bed with their killer.

"Do you want me to answer that, little bird?" Slade asked quietly, just like he did every time Dick enquired about things like this.

And, just like every time, Dick debated the answer. Did he want to know? Did he want to be oblivious? Would wanting to just forget about it for a little while make him less of a hero? Did this whole  _relationship_ undermine his very values?

Dick worried about these things from time to time. But Dick was a worrier in general, really. And what always brought Dick back to calm whenever he was afraid that he was being stupid by being with Slade, was that there was no one in the world who made him feel as at ease, as peaceful, as centered, as  _loved,_ as Slade did.

That's what mattered in the end. At least, he hoped so.

"No," Dick murmured, closing his eyes. "Let's go back to bed."

Slade leaned in and kissed him gently, probably far too aware about the conflicting feelings Dick was struggling with, and wrapped him in his arms.

"I've got you, little bird," the older man whispered, and Dick relaxed into his body, knowing he wasn't lying.

 

**2**

There was something very,  _very_ droll about fundraisers crowded by the 1%.

They all got dressed up in their very best and made each other feel good about all the money they were donating while never actually having to make any sacrifices. There were definitely a few good eggs who genuinely wanted to help people, but Slade wasn't holding his breath.

Now, Slade wasn't really  _judging_ these people for their selfishness; hell, his whole job was based on self-satisfaction. But after you attended enough of these (which Slade had, whether as undercover, bodyguard, waiting assassin, or invited guest) they all blended together, and didn't really feel worth the effort of actually going, despite the check he was sure to make at the end of the day.

For instancethis night, he'd been hired to take out a diplomat visiting some family in Gotham for a few days. The man was making the rounds with the high society folks, which included this benefit dinner/gala/whatever-the-fuck-you-wanted-to-call-it. Slade liked crowds for hits; the more people, the more chaotic it got, the less likely it was that someone was going to notice him.

Slade was dressed to fit the occasion in a black, tailored tuxedo, shiny Oxfords on his feet, and his hair styled. He had various weapons hidden on his person, of course, but no one noticed that (as expected). If not for the eyepatch, he would've looked just like any of the other million rich assholes milling about the ballroom.

He clocked his targetDavid Reynoldsright away, the diplomat's airheaded wife hanging off his arm and flashing a dazzling smile at all the people who approached to talk to them. The gala's security was spaced evenly throughout the room, easily noticed, and Reynolds' bodyguards were just as simple to spot, though they weren't trying as hard.

No, Slade knew he didn't have to worry about any of those two-bit soldiers. What he  _did_ need to worry about was the fact that he'd just spotted a couple of black-haired, blue-eyed kids, which meant nothing but fucking  _trouble._

"Hi," someone said, making Slade glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, standing behind him was Bruce Wayne, wearing the grin that millions of girls loved, the slightly dopey expression that proclaimed this man as not a threat, as just some playboy philanthropist without a real braincell.

But Slade knew better, had for just about seven years. Bruce Wayne was Batman. Bruce Wayne knew that Slade Wilson was Deathstroke. But Bruce Wayne did  _not_ know that Slade knew his identity in turn.

Slade had kept that a secret. He didn't know why  _(liar)_ he'd kept it to himself, but it was a valuable piece of information if he ever decided to sell it.

He was kidding himself, really. There was no way he'd ever tell anyone, not now. Not after these past seven months. Not after...

"HI," Slade replied, smiling back charmingly. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

Wayne offered his hand, already shaking his head. He swayed a little, as if drunk, and the glass in his other hand was practically empty. The man had a brilliant ruse, but Slade knew what he was looking for and there was a certain alertness in the billionaire that shouldn't have normally been there. Batman was lurking right below the surface, wondering why a mercenary was at his party.

"No, you don't," Wayne said, laughing a little. Slade shook his hand, noticing the callouses. "Which is why I thought I'd say hello! Normally all the same stuffy, horrible people attend these things-" he offered a wink, as if sharing a secret, "-so I thought I'd introduce myself to someone who looked vaguely interesting. What's your name?"

 _Vaguely interesting. Ha._ "Andrew Bennet," Slade said smoothly. Wayne didn't falter at what he knew to be a false name. "Nice to meet you, Mr...?"

He wondered if Dick was here, somewhere. Probably, since Slade had seen Robin #3 and the demon child. Dick's presence would always be welcome, but it would...complicate things.

"Wayne! Bruce Wayne, at your service."

Slade's eyebrows rose in surprise; as often as he worked in Gotham, he'd be expected to know the name, and pretending not to would be suspicious.

"Now, Mr. Bennet, can I ask-" Wayne began, his chin unconsciously raising as he prepared to suss out why Slade was there. He was interrupted, though, a few brainless girls running up and pulling him away. Wayne looked irritated for a moment before smoothing it down, and Slade couldn't help but feel terribly amused.

The next half hour went without incident. He danced with a pretty woman, then another, and then managed a dance with the diplomat's wife, who was slightly drunk by this point and whispering filth in his ear, making Slade wonder whether or not David Reynolds was performing as well as he should in the bedroom.

As the band wrapped up a song and they all paused to clap, he felt someone step up next to him. He didn't have to look to know who it washe'd recognize the feeling of Dick near him any time, any day.

"Follow me," the young vigilante murmured.

Slade withheld a sigh and did as he was told, weaving his way through the crowd after Dick. He glanced subtly around the room, searching for any watchful eyes, but Wayne currently had his back to them, deep in conversation with some business partner or another, and the two youngest boys were bent together, muttering something, taking no note of their oldest brother leading a known assassin through the ballroom.

Said-known-assassin couldn't help a little smirk; his boy was very,  _very_ clever, and good with timing.

"Dick-" Slade began as they exited the main room and through a door into a small hallway.

Any other words were cut off by his boyfriend  _(fuck, what a trivial word)_ pulling him against himself, one hand on his hip, the other around his neck. Slade melted into the kiss, breathing in Dick's scent and taste and drinking up the little shudders that wracked the younger man's frame when their tongues touched, the breathy moan when Slade pushed him against the wall, the relaxing of his body as Slade enveloped him.

Dick grinned against his mouth. "Hi," he said softly, breaking the kiss, their lips no more than a few centimeters apart. "Been a while."

And god help him, but Slade couldn't help the warmth that spread through his chest. He saw Dick six days ago in Blüdhaven, and yet the younger man was smiling up at him like it was the first time he was breathing fresh air in a decade.

It made Slade feel...

 _Shit,_ it made Slade feel all kinds of things.

"It's been less than a week, Grayson," the mercenary murmured back, stroking a hand through the hero's hair. Dick sighed and leaned into the touch, his eyelids fluttering shut, humming in pleasure.

"True, I suppose. Felt longer. I missed you."

How was it that this masterpiece of a human being was his?

He struggled with that from time to time. Dick Grayson was a genuinely  _good_ person. He'd had his fair share of struggles in life and he wasn't blind to the darkness of the world, but there was something so very  _pure_ about him that was just...amazing. Considering how awful their world could be, it was a miracle that Dick had stayed as bright and beautiful as he'd always been.

And Slade was...not those things. He wasn't being self-deprecating, it was just a facthe was a killer, a thief, a liar, a villain. Everything that Dick should've stayed far away from. Instead, the boy truly cared for him. Trusted him. Fought for him. It would probably be Dick's undoing one day.

Out of all of Slade's sins, if there was one that he knew would send him down below, it was being the stain on Dick Grayson's soul.

"I missed you too," he said quietly. "What are you doing in Gotham, little bird?"

And  _oh,_ Slade would never get tired of the various ways Dick reacted to that term of endearment. Like this time, when the vigilante relaxed like Slade's very words had soothed something inside of him.

"Damian had a parent-teacher conference," Dick said with a lopsided grin. "He wanted me to go, so I did. Since I was spending the night anyway I figured I might as well attend this party with my brothers, considering Bruce is co-hosting it. Free food and alcohol; what could go wrong?"

"The demon child goes to real school?" Slade asked dubiously, raising an eyebrow.

Dick laughed softly, nodding. "He does, indeed. My alma mater, actually. It's a good school." He smirked. "Also, Dami's art teacher showed me a bowl he made, so, you know, proof that art class evens out all kinds of people, even heirs of the demon."

Slade snorted, rolling his eye, and didn't resist when his partner  _(better than boyfriend?)_ pulled him in for another kiss, getting more and more heated by the second.

Part of Slade was wondering whether or not this was part distraction, whether Dick had figured out he was here to kill somebody and was just pulling his attention elsewhere. Whichpossible. But Dick also was an affectionate person, one who very much enjoyed being with Slade  _(the feeling was entirely mutual),_ so even if that was part of it, it was in no way the full story.

The mercenary licked and kissed his way down Dick's neck, grinding against him as well, making the younger man let out a soft moan. Slade glanced around and saw a small table, reaching just above Slade's hips, and he grinned.

Between one second and the next he had lifted Dick off the ground, moved over a few steps, and sat the hero on the table, stepping between his legs.

Dick laughed, throwing his head back, and the moaned when Slade stuck a hand down his nice slacks. Slade captured his mouth again, swallowing the moan down, and wondered if the band was loud enough to drown out their noises, considering they were only about eight feet from the door to the ballroom.

He found that in this moment he really,  _really_ didn't care.

"Oh. My. God."

Dick went rigid in his arms and Slade had the extremely strong urge to chuck a knife into the brain of whoever had just interrupted them.

He looked over his shoulder, following Dick's wide-eyed stare, and saw Jason Todd grinning at them, looking incredulous and delighted.

"Jay," Dick said faintly, blinking as if trying to find a way to rationalize. Slade wasn't going to say it, but he was pretty sure there was no way to explain away an assassin having you pressed against a wall with his hand down your pants and his mouth attached to your neck while you moan. That all felt pretty self-explanatory.

"I thought you were...I thought you didn't want to come," Dick continued, clearing his throat. Slade subtly removed his hand and zipped up Dick's slacks before stepping back, letting the younger man slide to his feet.

His cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen, his neck bright red from Slade's attention, his cock clearly erect in his pants. He looked absolutely _divine,_ and Slade wanted nothing more than to find a quiet room  _(with a lock)_ and finish what they started.

"Bruce called," Todd said with a sharp smirk and a quick glance at Slade, which the mercenary could easily define the meaning from; _Bruce told me Deathstroke was here and asked me to come._

And then it occurred to SladeTodd didn't know that Slade knew who they were, either. The second Robin could see that his big brother was acting out with a criminal, but on the other side it simply looked like Deathstroke was hooking up with a hot little rich boy.

"Let me guessbrother?" Slade said with a raised eyebrow, glancing between them in a bored fashion.

Dick blinked at him, seemingly in shock, probably not understanding why Slade was acting obtuse, and then he seemed to click. "Uh. Yea. This is Jason, my younger brother. Jay, we were..."

"Oh, Goldie, it was  _very_ clear what you were doing," the Red Hood chuckled. _"God,_ when B finds out!"

"Your father's not a fan of random hookups, then, I take it?" Slade snorted, and got to straightening his own clothes.

"Oh my fucking  _god,_ Dick!" Todd shouted, laughing all the while.

"Sorry, kid, I gotta run. This was fun." He smirked, then turned and headed back into the ballroom. Curious as to the conversation they were about to have, Slade stood on just the other side of the door, a crack still left open.

"That was-" Todd began.

"I know who that was," Dick hissed. "You  _cannot_ tell Bruce!"

"Why the hell are you making out with Deathstroke the Terminator in the first place?" Todd shouted right back, still sounding terribly amused. "Hell, if your plan was to distract the assassin for long enough to save the target, then man, you succeeded, but _hey_ I didn't know you had it in you."

"That is  _not-!"_ Dick began heatedly, then cut himself off, taking a deep breath. "Are you gonna tell B?"

There were a few moments of silence, and then Todd sighed heavily and said, "No, Goldie, I'm not gonna fucking tell Bruce. But you  _owe_ me one, _and_ a goddamn explanation."

"Yea, yea," Dick muttered back, and then footsteps getting further away from the door.

"I hope you know that I  _will_ be making jokes about this from here until eternity," Todd told him with delight. _"He_ might not have known whose pants he was trying to get into, but I'll never get the mental image of Deathstroke giving Nightwing a handjob out of my head."

"Oh, shut up!" Dick said, but he was laughing, and then their voices faded, too far away for even Slade's enhanced hearing to pick them up.

And it turns out Todd had been rightif Dick's plan had been to distract him, it had been successful; the diplomat was gone, safe from Slade.

The mercenary rolled his eye and smirked. One way or another, the batfamily managed to get in the way of his job.

 

**3**

Everything hurt.

Dick had been injured many,  _many_ times throughout his life, but this had to be top 5. His chest was on fire, all of his ribs at the very least cracked. His leg was broken, and his arm was numb and bent at an angle he was pretty sure arms weren't supposed to go. His throat burned from having been choked. His head was ringing from having been hit repeatedly.

All in all, this was not looking like a good day for Nightwing.

Frankly, Dick  _hated_ when villains teamed up. It was one thing if he'd been aware of the partnership beforehand, or if he had his family or his team to back him up, but when it was just him against five highly skilled individuals (one with super-strength, two trained by the League of Assassins, and two too violent for their own good), it was...a struggle.

He'd known Blockbuster put out a price on his head, and he'd fended off a few would-be assassins in the last month or so, but this time...well, this time he was pretty sure they were about to succeed.

Dick let out a shout when he was forcefully shoved into a chair, all of his injuries jostling and  _screaming_ at him. His vision went white for a moment, and he fought to keep breathing deeply. When they bound his arms to the arms of the chair, one of them sadistically punched the break. Dick cried out, but it only seemed to amuse them.

"Oh, dear Nightwing," a voice cooed, and Dick tilted his head back to see Lady Vic smirking down at him. "Did you ever think you'd find yourself in this position?"

"Of course not," Shrike snorted before Dick had a chance to reply. "He's the amazing Nightwing, Batman's partner _death_ was never in the cards."

That wasn't, strictly speaking, true. Death was an option every single day of his life, every time he chose to put on a mask and take on the criminals of the world, no superpowers to back him up. Death was the gamble he made every single day, one he'd accepted when he was ten years old and Bruce first let him be Robin. That didn't mean he  _wanted_ to die, it simply meant he knew it was possible.

He wasn't Superman. He didn't have bullet invulnerability, or heat vision, or super-strength; he made do with what he had, just like Bruce taught him, and he did alright.

If this was where he met his end, well...He'd had almost fourteen years of crimefighting, of a truly great life. That was more than many got. _Hell,_ it was more than  _Jason_ got.

Someone grabbed his chin, yanking his head forward, and he found himself face-to-face with Blockbuster. The crime boss had an ugly grin on his face, and Dick suppressed a shiver; this criminal had been out for his blood for a year now, and now here they were.

"Any last words?" Blockbuster sneered.

In that moment, Slade crossed his mind. They'd been together about eight months now, eight amazing months. Dick's twenty-fourth birthday was in just a couple weeks; his boyfriend had said he had something planned. It was a surprise, but now Dick wished he'd known what they were going to do; it would've been nice to think of in his final moments.

Would Slade avenge him? Oh, definitely. He most  _certainly_ didn't share Bruce's feelings (or  _Dick's_ feelings) about killing, and would have no problem hunting down the five people responsible for Dick's death. Jason would help him.

Dick let his eyes slide shut, a quiet breath going out of him. He said a silent goodbye to his brothers, to his father, to Alfred.

Then, to Slade, to the man he's never said _I love you_ too despite feeling it, Dick said, "See you in the next life."

There was the click of a gun's hammer being pulled back. A muzzle pressed against the center of his forehead. Dick prepared himself for blackness, but

"Step away from him."

Dick's eyes flew open, a small gasp making his lips part, and he saw Deathstroke standing with quite a large gun pointed directly at Blockbuster.

The crime boss narrowed his eyes and straightened to his full height, but didn't move the gun a single centimeter. "Deathstroke," Blockbuster grit out, "I don't care what contract you have out on Nightwingthis hero is  _mine_ to kill. He's been a nuisance for far too long, and this is  _my_ city."

Slade adjusted his aim.  _Bang, bang._

The Trigger Twins, off to either side of Dick, dropped dead, identical bullet wounds in the centers of their heads.

Lady Vic sucked in a sharp breath, her hand going to her gun, and Shrike fell into a ready stance. Slade put his aim right back on Blockbuster.

"I said  _step away from him,"_ Slade repeated coldly. "Shall I drop the last two of your minions or will you do as you're told?"

"Who's paying you so much that you'd be willing to take us all out?" Blockbuster demanded, a vein pulsing in his neck. "I've worked with you before, Deathstrokeyou aren't one to drop other mercs and assassins. Something or another about  _professional curtesy."_

Dick couldn't help but smile. Slade was there, protecting him, just like always. He hadn't expected him to appear, but looking back that was silly; Slade would _always_ be there if he needed him. And now his boyfriend was going to get rid of the threat, and while Dick really,  _really_ didn't approve of killing enemies, he figured that he could make an exception this time considering they were in the act of trying to kill  _him._

Unfortunately, the observant Lady Vic noticed the fond, relieved smile on his face while Blockbuster and Deathstroke were facing off, and cursed.

"He isn't here to kill Nightwing," the female assassin spat. "He's here to  _save_ him."

Blockbuster went rigid. Out of the corner of his eye, Dick saw Shrike take a step back, and then the assassin turned and ran, fading quickly into the darkness.

Boone knew when to cut his losses, and apparently getting in the way of Deathstroke and someone he cared about was not on his bucket list. Smart boy; there was a reason he was one of Ra's al Ghul's best.

"Well, well," Blockbuster sneered, pressing the muzzle of the gun more firmly against Dick's forehead. It felt hard enough to leave a bruise. Really, that was probably the least of Dick's worries. "Ain't that  _precious._ Went and fell in love with a fucking  _vigilante,_ Deathstroke? How the mighty have fallen."

Once more, Slade adjusted his aim.  _Bang._ Lady Vic went down.

"You see, Desmond, I actually  _liked_ Elaine," Slade said, his voice cold as ice, nodding to the limp form of the female assassin. "She was smart, and skilled, and we worked well together from time to time.  _You,_ though? I  _already_ despise you. Imagine how little sleep I'll lose over putting a bullet straight through your skull, which is  _exactly_ what will happen if you lay one more hand on Nightwing."

"You can't shoot me!" Blockbuster snarled. "You wouldn't risk my finger spasming as I went down and taking your little whore with me into the next life."

Slade's shoulders twitched in the tick Dick knew meant his boyfriend was  _pissed._ He'd never been a fan of derogatory names,  _especially_ in relation to people he cared for. Dick had once heard someone call Rose a  _bitch_ in Slade's presence and the poor sucker had been bleeding through the neck before he could so much as utter another syllable.

"Then it appears we're at a standstill," Slade mused, and the tone of his voice sent a shiver down Dick's spine. "What do you suggest we do next?"

Blockbuster didn't seem to have an answer to that. But, you see, Dick  _did._

Because, you see, they never bound his  _legs._

Dick kicked out, howling as his broken leg made contact with Blockbuster's groin, but it had the desired effect. The crime boss jerked away from him, letting out a strangled sound of pain, and doubled over. Another gunshot rang out, and Dick didn't have to look to know that Roland Desmond was dead.

 _The city will be in chaos tomorrow,_ Dick thought faintly, now that the man who ran 80% of it was gone.

Strong, familiar hands cupped his cheeks then, and Dick let his eyelids flutter shut, sighing in relief and leaning into the touch.

"Talk to me, little bird," Slade murmured, and Dick smiled, opening his eyes again.

"I love you," the hero said, and then grinned when the mercenary jerked in surprise.

After a moment, Slade pulled his mask up to his nose and crashed their mouths together, kissing Dick passionately. It hurt, his lungs burning and ribs protesting the movement, but Dick leaned into it all the same, so relieved to have his boyfriend with him.

For a minute or two, he'd really thought he was going to die.

"I love you, too," Slade said against his lips, drawing a gasp from Dick. "Of course I fucking do. Now, let's get you out of here."

Slade cut through the bindings on his wrists and then very carefully picked him up, murmuring an apology every time Dick cried out as some movement or another caused him pain. The ride to Dick's apartmentpressed against Slade's chest on his motorcycle, just like all those months agowas quiet and peaceful, and though Dick was in a lot of pain and so close to passing out, he felt safe and like he could take on the world, as long as he had Slade at his side.

"What's wrong?" Slade asked him after they got to the apartment, as he was doing his best to patch the vigilante up, and Dick realized tears were leaking from his eyes.

"Nothing," Dick whispered back. "I'm simply...I just really thought that was it for me. I'd never..." He sucked in a shuddering breath. "I'd always accepted dying as a possible outcome, but that was the first time I felt one hundred percent  _certain_ that I was about to be killed."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner," Slade told him, stroking a hand through his hair. "I've got you now, little bird."

Dick smiled at him and kissed him softly. "I know you do. You always do."

The next two months passed slowly, his bones and body taking their dear sweet time to mend. His brothers visited a lot, Bruce stopped in once or twice and sent him little care packages, and Slade was with him almost every night. He was glad to see so much of the people he loved, but he was antsy to get back out in the field, and after nine fucking weeks he was finally able to go on patrol.

About an hour into the night he came across five drug dealers, all unconscious, all bound and gagged. A note was pinned to the wall above them:

_Good to see you out and about, Nightwing._   
_Sorry about the shit with Blockbusterit was nothing personal._   
_Tell that to Deathstroke too, would you? I don't feel like being hunted by him._   
_I won't tell anyone by the way, about you and him. Your weird little secret is safe with me._   
_-Shrike_

Dick had to read it five times before the message fully sunk in, and he laughed, wondering how terrified the assassin must've been the past two months of Deathstroke the Terminator coming after him. He'd have to call Slade and tell him it was fine. It was still possible the merc would ignore him and go after Shrike anyway, but Dick liked to think that his boyfriend would heed his request.

Or, Dick thought with a smirk, maybe he'd simply have to distract the mercenary. He could think of a few options...

 

**4**

Getting punched in the face was not how Slade liked to start his mornings.

Preferably, he'd wake up with Dick in his arms, probably still asleep considering his boy was  _not_ a morning person. He'd have a nice long shower, sometimes with the gorgeous man that was somehow his with him, then make them some breakfast, and then go about their days.

A tiny fist against his nose did  _not_ fit in with that wonderful little plan.

Slade instinctively rolled to the side, jerking out of range of another blow. He was completely in defense mode at the moment. It was still pitch-black outside, casting the bedroom in shadows, making it challenging to make out his opponent _shit,_ make that  _opponents;_ there was two of them, both coming at him with a fury that didn't seem to match their small statures.

It didn't help that Slade was as naked as the day we was born.

Suddenly, the light flicked on, causing Slade to squint and curse; he heard his opponents do the same. Then

"Jesus  _Christ,_ what are you guys  _doing_ here?" Dick yelled, furious and surprised.

"It is a good thing we're here!" the smallest one shouted back, and now Slade realized who'd been attacking himthe fourth Robin and the ex-assassin girl, both out of costume, both looking about one second away from leaping at Slade again.

The mercenary pulled in a calming breath, let it out slowly, and then sat on the edge of the bed. He shot Dick a glare, one clearly saying  _Fix this, or I will._

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Dick snapped at the demon child, wiping a hand down his face. Suddenly, the vigilante seemed to realize that _he_ was completely naked, too, and cursed, quickly yanking on a pair of underwear from the floor.

"He was-" the demon child began furiously, then his cheeks pinked, and finished with, "-hurting you!"

Dick stared at his youngest brother, and Slade could practically see him screaming internally. Slowly, his gaze slid to the other one, Cassandra Cain.

"Damian, I can understand," Dick said lowly. "He's twelve. But  _you_ are twenty years old, Cass; I would seriously hope you could put some context to the situation."

The girl rose her chin indignantly, her jaw set. "I'm not blind!" she said firmly. "But this is...Deathstroke. He..." Her brow furrowed with frustration as spoken language failed her, and then she switched to ASL. _He's a very powerful mercenary, and he was pinning you down! We came to see you and found your enemywhat were we supposed to do? Leave you to whatever fate he had in store?_

Dick gaped at her and his eye twitched a few times.

Slade wondered if this is when he was going to witness his young lover have a mental breakdown. Two of his siblingsthe pair not raised in a normal society, the pair raised in seclusion and by assassins, the pair least likely to understand things that were typically obvioushad just walked in on him naked, "pinned" to the bed by the much larger form of Deathstroke the Terminator, a man who had many times over proven himself to be their enemy.

He could see where their urge to attack had come from. But that didn't make this any easier, because now Dick had to explain that no, he wasn't being held against his will, but willingly having sex with a killer, someone who represented everything their father taught them not to be. Everything _Dick_ told them they shouldn't be.

"Uh, let's, uh, um." Dick blinked rapidly, trying to think of something to say, and then his eyes met Slade's own. He seemed to draw strength from that small connection, straightening and rolling his shoulders until he seemed much calmer and more in control.

"Dami, Cass, sit down," Dick said, gesturing to the small loveseat Dick had crammed in the corner of his bedroom. The pair followed the instruction without a word, staring at their brother. Dick sat on the edge of the bed, facing them.

"Ok, um." Dick cleared his throat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "You are both very reasonable people, so I'm going to lay this all out for you in very clear terms. Will you let me say everything before interjecting?" he asked, his eyes lingering on the demon child for the question far more than the girl.

Cain nodded without hesitation, her gaze level as she waited for an explanation. Slade wondered if she harbored any ill will towards him personally; he'd trained her for a time, after all, and it hadn't ended well. Dick was right, though; she was a very reasonable person, and seemed to have set her sights on new targets since their run-in. However, this incident might just put him back in her bad graces.

The demon child narrowed his eyes for a moment, and then nodded sharply. "Fine. Tell me what is going on!"

Dick drew in a slow breath and let it out. Slade resisted the urge to reach out to him and provide comfort; it wouldn't be appreciated in this moment, not by anyone in the room.

"Ten and a half months ago, I got pretty badly hurt on the job. Slade found me and took care of my injuries without asking for anything in return. It wasn't the first time he'd helped me in such a way; for as long as I can remember Slade has looked out for me in some form or another."

"But he fought you countless times!" the demon child protested, already having forgotten his promise not to interrupt.

 _B once said that for some reason Deathstroke seemed to help Dick when they were around each other,_ Cain signed, and her gaze was intent as she watched her eldest brother. Her eyes shifted briefly to Slade. _They may fight, but no one has been able to harm Dick around Deathstroke in years._

The young Robin bristled, clearly unhappy with the logical argument he'd been presented with, and Slade blinked at the girl, taken aback; Batman had commented on it? He'd taken note? What did he think of it? Did he simply think Slade wanted to recruit Nightwing, or did he suspect something more? Was he-?

"Oh," Dick said faintly. "Yes, well. So. Uh." He cleared his throat again. "Anyway, he took care of me. And for a while before then I'd felt something...gentler than animosity towards him, and he to me. So one thing led to another, and now for the past ten and a half months we've been in a relationship. We haven't told anyone for precisely the reason of this kind of response. I appreciate you both wanting to protect me immensely, but there was no needeverything that has occurred has been one hundred percent consensual."

The pair of younger siblings stared at their big brother with narrowed, calculating eyes. The boy seemed to be struggling with this more than the girl, and was still glaring at Dick as Cain stood up fluidly and made her way over to Slade.

Dick went tense and stood, clearly anxious, but Slade remained absolutely still, tilting his head up to meet her gaze as she stood in front of him with a hard look in her eyes.

 _There's a lot I could say,_ Cain signed,  _about what will happen if you hurt him. But in the end it's simple._ She then said, "You hurt Dick, you touch him without...permission, and you die."

She turned back to her brothers and gave Dick a firm hug, then left, heading for the front door.

Dick stared after her for a long moment, eyes a little wide, and Slade wondered what was surprising him morethe girl's dedicated protectiveness, or the length of the sentence she'd said.

"Dami-" Dick began hesitantly as his little brother stood up, and stopped with a quick breath when the demon child approached Slade and pressed a very sharp dagger against the mercenary's jugular vein. Slade remained very still. "Damian,  _don't!"_

"Cain and I were both raised to be master assassins, and neither of us would hesitate to throw off my father's no killing rule if this occasion calls for it. Understand that the _only_ reason you are still breathing right now is because your death would _apparently_ make Grayson upset. I don't think I need to say anything else; Cain covered it simply and well. The moment you cease to make Grayson happy, or you _hurt_ him, I hope you understand that you _will_ have us hunting you to the ends of the earth, and we won't settle for just the other eye."

Slade met the child's gaze steadily. Damian genuinely cared for Dick's happiness and wellbeing, that much was obvious, despite how his grandfather had tried to force emotions out of him. This boy wanted nothing more than to protect his big brother, one of the only people to ever truly give him a chance, to see the potential in him, the capacity to be  _good._

It was for that reason that Slade said, "I have no intention of ever hurting Dick. I would give my life for his safety and happiness. If I ever cease to be a good thing in his life, I will remove myself immediately and you will never hear from me again.  _That_ I swear to you, kid."

The demon child frowned at him for a few moments longer and then nodded, the knife vanishing into his sleeve. He turned for the door. "I won't tell anyone, Grayson, but I expect to see you at dinner tomorrow nightAlfred is making Tacos."

Neither Dick nor Slade said anything for a while, both staring at the empty bedroom doorway. Slade turned his attention to his partner then, watching him while Dick remained still. Part of his life had just exploded, and Slade wanted to give the twenty-four-year-old time to process it.

Really, Slade didn't give a single shit whether or not anyone knew. If Dick wanted to tell people, fine. If Dick wanted to keep it a secret, fine. Neither option bothered Slade, but he knew that  _Dick_ had been bothered by the idea of his family finding out. He'd been afraid of what they'd say, of the judgment, of the fighting. He was probably even scared of being disowned, but Slade knew that would never happenthe bat would be pissed, and there would probably be some yelling, but nothing in the entire universe would make Batman (nor Bruce Wayne) cast his son out.

He was still welcoming Jason Todd into his home, wasn't he? Wayne was hardly going to turn on Dick for being in a relationship with a killer when his other son was  _actually_ killing people himself.

None of that logic would make Dick feel better, though. His boy was emotion-based, and he wouldn't be able to believe Slade's words until he experienced it for himself. And until Dick was ready to face Wayne, that experience would never come.

Slade was fine with waiting for as long as it took. He was in this for the long haul, and certainly not going anywhere unless Dick told him to hit the road.

"Are you alright?" Slade asked.

Dick startled out of his own thoughts and turned to look at the older man. He smiled; it was weak, but it was real, so Slade smiled back.

"Yea," the vigilante said on a sigh, walking over to Slade's side. He sat down beside the mercenary and snuggled against him, humming when Slade wrapped his arms around him.

"It was just...very startling, is all. I wasn't ready for..." He waved a hand aimlessly in the air, but Slade understood. "Damian was one of the ones I'd been really worried about. I still am. He struggles with not looking at things as black-and-white, and I've always told him that killing is wrong, that he doesn't have to follow the things the League taught him, that he can be a good person. I'm worried that he'll think I'm a hypocrite, or that he can't trust me anymore-"

"That boy worships the ground you walk on," Slade interrupted, because Dick needed to hear it. "This hasn't changed the way he looks at you, it's only added a bit more to his understanding. He knows you don't condone killing because he's spent two years at your side, Dickhe'll probably ask you more questions about all this in the future, but there's no way he'll turn on you. He knows you too well; they  _all_ do. Ok?"

Dick nodded and relaxed, letting out a shaky breath. "Ok."

Slade kissed the top of his partner's head. "Good. Do you want to try and get some more sleep?"

The vigilante glanced at the clock _4am_ and snorted. "Unlikely. Want to watch some crap television?"

Slade rolled his eye but smiled and nodded. "You're on, little bird."

 

**5**

Anyone who knew Dick would tell you that he was an affectionate person.

He wasn't afraid to let people know how he felt about them, wasn't hesitant about offering touch, and certainly enjoyed being held in return. But despite all of that, despite how loving he was, he'd never been in a relationship that lasted a year.

Barbara and he'd had something real, but it had been brief, and they were far better as friends; she was like a sister to him now. Then, he'd truly fallen for Koriand'r, and she for him, but at the time their lives had been far too complicated, and after eight months they'd had to call it quits. He and Wally had hooked up a couple times but after one date they'd both decided that neither of them wanted a relationship with each other, and he remained one of his best friends to this day.

But now, on March 16th, Dick was celebrating his one year anniversary with Slade Wilson of all people.

And, ok, Dick could admit to himself that he was a little anxious. He was starting to get afraid, because he was truly in this now, and that was slightly terrifying. He was twenty-four years old and in a relationship with a man who'd been alive for ninety-three years and didn't look a day over forty-five. A mercenary, an assassin, everything Dick fought against.

And frankly, Dick loved him with everything he was.

Because the thing was, at the end of the day, Slade loved  _him._ Wholly, completely, like there was nothing else in the world that mattered but the two of them. It might've been cliched to say but Slade made him feel things he'd never felt before, made Dick calm like no one could, understood him and challenged him and defended him and  _loved_ him.

At the end of the day, Dick could look past the differences in their professions. That could be an argument for a later date. And maybe one day, it _would_ be too much to handle. Maybe one day, Dick wouldn't be able to look past the killing anymore, or Slade wouldn't be able to put up with the hero shit any longer, and they'd break up.

Bu really, Dick didn't see that happening. If they got to that bridge they'd cross it, but he didn't see that in their future. He just saw stupid, cliched, dangerous, _perfect_ love.

Slade had told him not to make any plans from March 13th to the 19th, which made Dick slightly suspicious, but also excited. Clearly his boyfriend had something planned and was being very tightlipped about it, only giving the barest of minimum details possible.

So, with no actual clue what was going to happen (and briefly entertaining the possibility that maybe this was all a set-up and he was about to be murdered), Dick told his family that he was going on a small vacation with his friends (Wally and Roy agreed to cover for him for a few days, not even asking for details) and then boarded the plane when Slade told him to.

As it turned out, apparently Slade had planned seven days of crimefighting. Which...ok, watching Deathstroke the Terminator beat up some bad guys (and  _not_ taking any lives) in Paris, and then Rome, and then London, was a pretty amazing way to spend an anniversary.

"Something like this was going to be your birthday present," Slade murmured to him on their first night, brushing the hair back from Dick's eyes. Dick snuggled in deeper against his boyfriend's chest, drinking in his warmth, his heartbeat, his breathing. "But then you had to go and almost get murdered on me, so I thought I'd postpone."

Dick smiled and closed his eyes.

"Woe is you," he replied with a dramatic sigh, and felt more than heard the quiet rumble of a chuckle out of Slade.

"Thank you," Dick then said, because this was truly a fantastic gift. Not only being able to fight at Slade's side but with the sole purpose of  _helping_ people, the two of them acting as heroes, no lives takenit was a gorgeous way to spend a week.

"You're welcome, little bird," Slade whispered, and then tilted Dick's head up to capture the younger man's lips in a kiss, passionate and loving and communicating a thousand things that Dick never wanted to let go of.

Each day went perfectly. Dick had been momentarily anxious that Slade was going to struggle not to take down their targets  _permanently,_ but when he'd awkwardly voiced that concern, Slade had risen an eyebrow at him and said,  _"I am not a wild animal, Dick; I am perfectly capable of_ not _killing people in a fight."_

True to his word, the mercenary acted with no excessive force, and Dick hadn't been able to stop the grin that split across his face when Slade knelt down without hesitation to perform first aid on a victim's bleeding wound, murmuring comforting words to her in Italian.

On their last night, they went to a nice restaurant in London. If they'd been in Gothamor any city in the States, reallydoing this would've been a dangerous gamble, simply because Dick was a public figure, which meant it was very likely he'd be recognized, have his picture taken, and then be on the front page of the gossip rags for the whole heroing community to see him at dinner with Slade Wilson.

And while it was possible to get recognized in the UK, Dick wasn't  _that_ famous, so they were far safer.

The dinner was amazing. It was another fantastic memory in a countless stream of them with his partner. Once more, Dick felt that burst of fear, that slight anxiety, for how far in he was. Slade could so easily break him now with only a few words. Because it  _would_ break him, if Slade decided he wasn't good enough anymore. It would break him like so many had tried and failed to do.

Startling him from his thoughts, Slade took his hand, rubbing his thumb gently across Dick's knuckles. "Where's your mind?" he asked.

Dick hesitated and briefly considered lying, but eventually sighed and shook his head, deciding on the truth.

"I've never been in a relationship that lasted this long," Dick admitted, staring at their hands instead of Slade's face. "I've never...felt the way I do about you. It's terrifying, because it's like I've handed you my heart and asked you not to crush it in your palm. I have faith in you not to, but I'm..."

He licked his lips and was grateful that Slade didn't say anything, letting him collect his thoughts. "I love you. And I  _know_ you love me. And this love is..." A soft smile pulled at his lips, "Dangerous, and perfect, and exciting, and more _pure_ than people would guess. But I'm afraid that one day you'll wake up and decide that you don't want me anymore, or that I'm not enough, or get sick of my judgments, or..."

"Oh, little bird," Slade breathed sadly. "Come on, follow me."

Slade paid and they left, Slade taking his hand and pulling him along on a quiet walk through the streets. It was far past December, but for some reason some places still had their Christmas decorations up, and they lit the streets in a beautiful array of colors.

Eventually, after leaving Dick to stew for far too longand probably just taking the time to collect his thoughtsSlade stopped them on the middle of a bridge, overlooking the river. It was a full moon, and more stars were visible here than they would've been in Gotham. Slade put his arms around Dick's waist and walked the younger man backwards, leaning them both against the concrete barrier.

"Look at me, Dick," Slade murmured, and cupped one of his cheeks, tilting his head up. Dick met his gaze and took comfort from the calm surety in Slade's expression.

"I want you to understand me when I say in no uncertain terms that there is not a single universe where I wake up and decide I don't want you anymore."

Dick opened his mouth to reply but Slade shook his head.

"No, little bird,  _listen_ to me. The idea of you being  _not enough_ is truly unthinkable. I could _never_ get enough of your mind, or your body, or your _light._ I spend my days worried that I am tainting you simply by loving you, and if I were a better man I'd leave you to become the great hero you are meant to be. But I'm  _not_ a good man, Dick, and so if you get any comfort from my lack of morals it should be that I will never leave you as long as I'm breathing. As long as you want me, Dick, I'm not going anywhere."

Dick let out a shuddering breath and crashed their mouths together. He moaned as Slade pressed his entire body firmly against the younger man, trapping him on the side of the bridge, and his breath hitched as Slade began undoing their belts.

"We're in public, Slade," Dick said with a laugh, putting a hand on his boyfriend's own in order to halt the movement.

Slade didn't make any further attempt to push down Dick's pants, but he did look around in an exaggerated fashion and say, "I don't see anyone else, do you?"

Dick laughed again and then undid his own zipper, giving Slade permission to continue. Which he did, with wonderful vigor.

They were lucky that it was late and there was no one on their particular bridge, because Dick was most certainly not silent, and Slade was making no attempts to try and quiet him, even urging him on the one time Dick tried to muffle his moans.

"Slade," Dick gasped, pulling his boyfriend closer and closer still. "Slade, I want-"

The mercenary grinned against his neck and said, "I've got you, little bird."

Then, quite suddenly, Slade whirled him around, bending him over the concrete barrier. Dick yelped in surprise, feeling briefly dizzy as he stared down at the water below, but the sound of surprise quickly morphed into a moan as Slade grinded against his ass. Slade grabbed Dick's hands and pinned them against the barrier, then kissed and licked his way down Dick's neck.

"Oh, I'm never letting you go," Slade breathed, voice thick with lust, thrusting against Dick's ass. Dick pushed back against the sensation, his breathing hitching in his lungs. "I've you now, little bird, and-"

There was a flash of red light, a surprised grunt of pain from Slade, and then his boyfriend was flying off of him and across the bridge.

Dick gasped in surprise and whirled around, feeling lightheaded. Never in his life had he ever been so quickly ripped out of arousal.

"Shit," Dick breathed when he saw what was happening. Superman,  _somehow,_ had appeared and was now giving Slade a merciless beating. Slade was skilled and powerful and so doing alright, but Clark was going after him with a vengeance, and fighting a kryptonian one-on-one was a challenging thing.

"ClSuperman,  _stop!"_ Dick screamed as the hero slammed Slade against the ground, his eyes burning red. Dick ran over to them, grabbing Clark's arm as he geared up to hit the mercenary again. "Stop!"

"He won't touch you again," Clark growled back at him, leaving Dick dizzy for a moment as he realized why the kryptonian was so obviously filled with rage.  _Is this going to be the assumption each time?_ Dick wondered, remembering what Damian and Cassandra did.

"No, no, no, he wasn't assaulting me,  _please!"_

The desperation in his voice gave Clark pause, allowing Slade the moment he needed to shove the hero off of him and back a few feet to get some distance. Dick instantly put himself between the two older men, his heart pounding in his chest with slight panic.

"Don't!" Dick shouted, when it looked like Clark was simply going to ignore him and fly over to Slade anyway.  _"Christ,_ Superman, just  _listen_ to me!"

Clark was practically vibrating with anger, his eye narrowed hatefully as he stared past Dick and at Slade. With obvious effort, Clark looked back to Dick, reining in his rage.

"Alright," he said, taking deep breaths, "talk, then."

Dick's shoulders slumped with a small amount of relief, but then anxiety hit him about the fact that he was about to tell  _Superman_ that he was sleeping with the enemy.

"Right, uh, it wasconsensual. Slade wasn't forcing me into anything, it wasn't an assault or attempted rape or  _anything_ like that."

"He had you trapped," Clark replied, his voice tight with anger. "He had your hands pinned, you had no leverage for escape, and he was saying he was never going to let you go!"

Dick's cheeks heated. "Yea," he said weakly, not sure where to go from there.

Clark still looked like he didn't believe him, his expression that of someone not understanding why a victim was protecting their attacker.

"Jesus Christ," Slade muttered behind Dick. "The demon child I could understand, considering his upbringing. What's the excuse for a grown ass man?"

"It's  _Superman,"_ Dick said, like that should be reason enough. He felt faint. "He's-" He waved a hand inarticulately in the air.

Slade snorted. "Far as I know, he was raised on Earth since birth in a normal fucking place. He has no excuse to not understand what gay sex is."

Clark glared at the mercenary with hate for a moment before something seemed to hit him. He blinked at Dick. "Waitdoes he mean Damian? Damian knows about-?" Then complete understand dawned. "You're actually...Does Batman know?" he demanded.

"No," Dick winced, "just some of my siblings. And...is there any way I can persuade _you_ to  _not_ tell him?"

Clark gave him a hard stare, his arms folded across his chest and then sighed. "I won't tell him. But you  _really_ should, Dick."

Dick nodded mutely, not really having a definitive answer for that. If telling _Superman_ that he was in a relationship with a killer was hard, it would be a million times _worse_ if Dick had to tell Bruce.

Once more, Clark's eyes slid past the young vigilante and to the mercenary. "Are you using him?" he asked, voice deadly calm.

Slade shook his head andknowing about Superman's super hearing, knowing he would know if he liedsaid, "I would protect him with my life."

Clark just nodded, not looking happy but no longer hostile, and took a few steps towards Dick. He put a hand on the younger man's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Be safe, Dick," he said earnestly.

Dick smiled, pulling the kryptonian into a brief hug. He'd known Clark since he was ten years old, brand new to the hero business and completely in awe at getting to meet _the_ Superman. Clark had always been a fantastic person to be around, and as he'd gotten older they'd become actual friends. Clark's opinion meant something to him, and this acceptanceas hesitant as it waswas a nice thing to have.

"You too," he murmured. "I'll see you around, Superman."

The older hero offered a smile in return and, with one final wary glance at Deathstroke, took off, immediately fading into the night sky.

Slade and Dick remained in silence for a bit longer, then Dick heard Slade approach from behind and say, "I feel like I need to reevaluate my values if all these heroes are so quick to assume I'm  _raping_ you when they catch us together."

Dick cracked a smile and leaned back against his boyfriend's chest, humming when Slade wrapped his arms around him. "I think it's less an insult on your character and more a compliment to mine."

The mercenary snorted and dryly said, "Thanks. That makes me feel  _so_ much better."

Dick laughed and tilted his head back on Slade's shoulder, pressing a delicate kiss to the underside of his jaw. "They mean well, and are simply protective. These people have never known me to be anything other thanas Jay calls itthe Golden Boy. They don't want to wrap their head around the concept that  _maybe_ people aren't perfect and I'm not black-and-white, and I might just be perfectly happy being fucked by Deathstroke the Terminator."

Slade groaned, his eyes sliding shut. "I believe there's something we never got to finish," he murmured huskily against Dick's hair.

With a smirk, Dick said, "Then we better get back to the hotel, because no  _way_ am I risking another interruption on this bridge."

 

**+1**

"Can't talk right now, kid," Slade said quietly, bracing the phone between his ear and his shoulder. "Can I call you back later?"

"'Course," Dick replied easily, "but this is quickwant to grab dinner tomorrow night?"

Slade frowned. They were both in the same city for the next couple of nights so he just figured they'd already had "plans" to grab dinner, but if Dick wanted to make it official, Slade didn't have a problem with it, even if it was a little strange, and breaking the pattern.

"Sure," Slade said, lowering his voice even further as his targets got closer far below him. "Any place in particular?"

"I've got an idea," Dick said breezily, evasively, and then asked, "You're in the middle of a job, aren't you?" Slade hummed in confirmation, watching his targets crowd around a table on the factory floor. "Non-lethal?" Slade cracked a smile, and actually wasn't lying when he hummed again; this job wasn't about killing the targets, just sending a message and stealing something. "Coolsee you later."

Slade hung up the call, put the phone back in his pocket, and then dropped soundlessly to the ground, getting to work.

That night, when he got back to his safehouse, Dick was in the bedroom, pulling off his Nightwing suit. The younger man shot him a lopsided grin, placing his mask on the nighstand, and then headed towards the bathroom.

"I need a shower," Dick said, wrinkling his nose.

"Any injuries?" Slade asked, and began to remove his own uniform.

"Few bumps and bruises," Dick called, and Slade heard the shower start up. "Nothing major."

Nights like this, Sade was struck by their domesticity. They'd been together just about fourteen months, and despite Slade's profession and the way Dick spent his nights, there was something so very  _normal_ about evenings like this, when they were both done for the day and just settled in to watch a movie or go to sleep. Nothing about life with Dick was ever boring, and  _normal_ was certainly not a word he would use to describe them and their relationship, but nights like these...

Well, he could almost see what normal people liked so much about normal shit.

Sure enough, they ended up on the couch and watched TV until three in the morning, Dick drifting off to sleep against Slade's arm, his legs curled over Slade's lap. Slade pressed a soft kiss against the top of his head and slowly picked him up, careful not to wake the younger man, and then tucked them both into bed.

The next day around 6pm, they headed out for dinner. Slade asked where they were going but Dick just shrugged a shoulder absently and didn't actually respond to the question, slipping in the driver's seat and taking off.

The longer they drove, the more tense Dick got, and Slade frowned, not knowing how to remedy Dick's anxiety since he didn't know what was causing it.

"We're going into Gotham," Slade observed half an hour later as they began crossing the bridge linking Blüdhaven to its twin city.

"Mmm-hmm," Dick confirmed, nodding, and his hands tightened almost imperceptibly on the steering wheel. Slade watched him carefully, not understanding.

They drove for a bit longer and Slade tried to work out what their destination was. It wasn't until they took a certain turn that would lead to the more open edge of the city that it dawned on Slade.

"We're going to the manor," Slade realized. Dick didn't say anything, staring straight ahead. "Why are we going to the manor, little bird?"

For a moment Slade thought that his partner wasn't going to say anything, but then Dick wet his lips and said, "Bruce told me yesterday that apparently Kid-Flash said something to Flash which created proof that I hadn't been on a trip with him and Arsenal during our anniversary. Bruce said that he knows I'm seeing someone and wanted me to bring them to dinner tonight. So, after considering it, I am."

He glanced at Slade out of the corner of his eye. "If you don't want to, we can easily go eat somewhere else. We're actually really close to a Chinese place I like."

Now all of the anxiety made sense. Dick had been very adamant over the last year about keeping their relationship a secret, and Slade had been perfectly fine to go along with it; _he_ didn't have a family of superheroes who could judge him for dating an assassin. Dick's fear over telling his father about their relationship had been something Slade tried to respect, and didn't feel any need to push. He'd wanted it to be 100% Dick's choice to tell Batman.

And now, apparently, Dick had made that choice.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Slade said. "Don't feel like you need to tell your family about us because it will make me happy, because I honestly don't care one way or another. You can just tell Wayne that the  _relationship_ he knows about isn't serious enough for meeting the family, or whatever."

Dick smiled. It was weak, but it seemed real. He was still very,  _very_ tense. "I know. But I...I'm sure. We've been together for over a year, and I love you. If Bruce doesn't approve, or is angry..." He rolled his shoulders, clearly displeased with the idea. "Well, then he can suck it. I'm happy with you, and he's my dad; he should be happy for me, too. And if he's not, well, Bruce Wayne's approval isn't everything."

Slade nodded and the corners of his mouth tilted up. He reached over and ran his hand briefly through Dick's hair. "I agree."

He wasn't going to say it, but he was  _extremely_ pleased Dick had reached this mindset. Not about telling his family, but about putting aside his hero worship, his desperate need to gain Wayne's approval. Each Robin had it, even Toddit was like when the kids signed up for the gig they got a pair of tights and an inferiority complex. Slade never pushed the issue because there was no point in questioning the brilliance of Batman with Dick, but he was so happy to see Dick slowly allowing that to slide away, to not define himself and what he did by the approval of Bruce Wayne.

They drove the next few minutes in silence, and then Slade asked, "So just so I'm clearwe're just springing this on him and the rest of your brood?"

Dick laughed and nodded. "Damian and Cassandra are aware of course, and Jason pieced the last bit of truth together when he saw the way they were acting, but Bruce, Tim, Steph, Alfred...yea. They have no clue. So this dinner will certainly be interesting."

Slade snorted. "Oh, the first five  _minutes_ will be interesting, everything after that will either be awkward or we'll be gone." Dick pursed his lips, clearly uneasy with that idea, so Slade moved the conversation forward. "There's also the fact that they'll realize I know who they are tonight."

"Shit!" Dick cursed, and then Slade echoed the sentiment when their car suddenly swerved in Dick's shock, causing a couple other cars to honk at them. Dick called a few apologies halfheartedly, his eyes wide as Slade's words settled in.

"Oh my god. Bruce is going to  _kill_ me for not telling him that. It's beenwhat, eight years since you found out?  _Damn._ Shit."

"Well, at least he won't be focused on the fact that we're together then," Slade offered wryly, and smirked at the glare the younger man sent his way.

Frankly, out of the pair of them, Slade was in far more danger of being on the receiving end of Wayne's anger. He was just about four times Dick's age and a killer, one who they'd fought many,  _many_ times. Wayne was  _not_ going to be happy with the fact that his eldest son was in a relationship with someone like Deathstroke. And Slade still wouldn't put it past the demon child and assassin girl to make an attempt on his life.

"That's not funny," Dick muttered. He seemed to be eyeing each of the turnoffs, like he was contemplating scraping this whole plan and turning around. He didn't, though, and within a few minutes they were pulling up the long gravel driveway of Wayne Manor.

Dick stopped the car but made no attempts to get out, gripping the steering wheel like it was his last tether to this world.

Slade sighed and reached over to cup his partner's face, gently turning Dick to look at him. He waited until Dick met his gaze before speaking.

"I wish I could lie to you and say that you had nothing to worry about, but yea they'll probably be upset. But trust me when I say it is going to be nowhere _near_ as bad as you're picturing in your head. I figured out your identities, you didn't give them up. We love each other, and they can all fuck right off if they can't be happy for you. But Dick, little bird, it is  _not_ going to end that way; it's all going to be ok."

Dick nodded shakily and kissed him, taking a moment of comfort in the older man's arms, and then turned to get out of the car. Slade followed suit.

They approached the front door and saw Jason Todd lounging against it, attention focused on the cellphone in his hand. He glanced up at them when they were close, and smirked.

"So you  _did_ know whose pants you were trying to get into, huh?" Todd mused, raising his eyebrows at Slade. "And it looks like you succeeded."

"Jason," Dick chastised, exasperated.

 _"Let me guessbrother,"_ Jason echoed in an imitation of Slade's voice. "Nice acting, Deathstroke."

Slade simply rose an eyebrow in return. "Thanks, Red Hood."

Todd narrowed his eyes for a second, and then rolled them. He pushed himself off the door and strode forward, throwing an arm around Dick's shoulders. Dick allowed himself to be pulled forward, an amused smile tilting his lips, and Slade was pleased to see some of the tension bleed out of Dick's frame. Being confronted with easy support from one of his siblings helped.

"Into battle," Todd declared extravagantly as they pushed through the door. Cassandra Cain was sitting at the base of the large staircase and got fluidly to her feet when she saw them, then strode over.

When she looped her arm through Slade's own, the mercenary couldn't help but stare in surprise, taken aback, and knew Dick was doing the same.

"Hello," Slade said hesitantly, glancing at the point of contact.

"Less likely to attack," she told him. And...yea, he had to admit that was a pretty smart ideaif he was arm in arm with a member of the family, the rest would be far less likely to attack, instead listen first.

He shared a look with Dick and saw that he was thinking the same thing.

Todd led them further into the house, and Slade analyzed everything he saw, making a mental floorplan as well. You never knew when it would come in handy, after all.

"Dick," he heard Bruce Wayne call out a few feet ahead, far calmer than his public image counterpart, "good to see you. Where's...?"

Slade stepped into the living room, glancing around and taking it all in in a second.

The third Robin and the Spoiler were on a couch together, the girl's legs thrown over the boy's lap. Drake had a book open and balanced on her shins, while Brown was sketching something in a notebook. The demon child was sitting in a stiff-looking armchair, focused very intently on the computer resting on his folded lap. And then Wayne was in another couch, one arm thrown along the back of it.

His expression was relaxed, open, but there was something very weighted about his gaze, and he could very easily see how this man became Batman. It was interesting to see both sides of Wayne; that stupid playboy from the party and this in-control hero at home, the one only those close to him saw.

When Wayne's eyes landed on Slade, he got slowly to his feet, the relaxation immediately draining from him. Drake glanced up as his father trailed off and sucked in a sharp breath, which led Brown to do the same, and she got to her feet. Damian Wayne looked up and watched everything, not moving from his spot.

"What are you doing in my house?" Wayne asked coldly, his narrowed eyes darting down to where Cain had her arm looped through the mercenary's.

"I was invited," Slade said smoothly, and felt a brief moment of satisfaction when Wayne stiffened ever-so-slightly.

The billionaire looked to Cain, then, which was what seemed like the obvious answer to  _who_ had invited him.

"Uh," Dick said hesitantly. "That...would be me, actually." Wayne immediately whirled around on his eldest son, who put his hands up in surrender, eyes wide. "You, uh, you told me to bring the person I'm dating over for dinner, so...here he is." He smiled weakly. "Ta da."

Wayne stared at Dick in what looked like incomprehension, or disbelief. He glanced back to Slade, then took in the way Cain was standing, and Todd's easy presence with them, and then straightened and narrowed his eyes.

"How long?" he asked, and Slade saw a small shiver run down Dick's spine at the flat, unfeeling tone the billionaire was using.

"Just about fourteen months," Dick said quietly.

"And how long have the pair of  _you_ known?" Wayne then asked, nodding at Cain and Todd.

"Damian too," Cain said, making Wayne slowly turned around to look at his youngest son.

The fourth Robin lifted his chin stubbornly and said, "Three and a half months ago Cain and I found out. We threatened Deathstroke and then promised to keep Grayson's secret, so we did."

"I knew Dick hooked up with Wilson seven months ago, but I didn't know until a few days ago that they were in an actual relationship," Todd added in a bored tone. "C'mon, B, it's not a _huge_ deal-"

"And how long have you known our identities?" Wayne asked Slade, clearly uninterested in his second son's attempt to lessen the blow. "Because you don't seem all that surprised about anything." He turned his attention to Dick and coldly followed it with, "Did you even  _consider_ talking to me or _any_ of us before revealing our secret identities to a mercenary? This isn't some fun story to share, Dick, you can't just unilaterally make this decision-"

"He didn't," Slade interrupted. Cain released him and he folded his arms across his chest, glaring right back at the bat. "When he was sixteen the Teen Titans were in a major battle and his mask got ripped off. The robot that did it got smashed immediately but I was less than five feet away from Dick so I saw his face. It wasn't hard to put the rest of it together. I've known your identity for _eight years,_ Wayne, and I've never said a word."

He didn't tell them that  _he_ had been the one to smash the robotone of Ivo'swhen he saw what happened, but it was true, and he'd done it without hesitation. He hadn't understood why; it had simply been instinct.

Wayne stared at him, surprised into silence. It was quite the declaration, and Slade could see it hit each of the batfamily individually. He could see each of them going over every encounter they'd had with him, looking for any signs that he might've given it away that he knew who they were.

"If that's true," Wayne said slowly, "why didn't you tell anyone? Batman's identity is a valuable secretwhy not sell it?"

Slade shook his head. "I didn't want to." He looked over to Dick and met his gaze; the younger man offered him a strained but real smile. "And I'm glad I didn't."

Wayne took a few deep breaths and asked, "Does anyone else know? About...you two, I mean."

"The mercenary Angelica," Dick said immediately, clearly relieved to be back on easier territory. "She broke into his apartment while I was there, but she doesn't know I'm Nightwing. Also Shrikethe League of Assassins agentknows, because he helped Blockbuster kidnap me in an attempt to kill me and was there when Slade saved me."

"You killed Blockbuster, didn't you?" Drake asked, looking at Slade appraisingly. "And the Trigger Twins, and Lady Vic?"

"Yes," Slade said, with absolutely zero remorse. "They were two seconds away from blowing Dick's brains out; I acted."

"Anyone else?" Wayne asked, and despite the admittance of murder just a few moments ago, he sounded slightly  _less_ freezing cold.

Dick was already shaking his head, lips pressed into a thin line, but no  _way_ was Slade about to let the Man of Steel get out of this unscathed; if Batman was going to be pissed at people, Slade was going to ensure that the kryptonian was on that list.

"Superman," Slade declared, and ignored the glareexasperated and incredulousthat Dick sent his way.

"Superman," Wayne repeated dubiously, clearly not believing him. "Superman knows that Nightwing and Deathstroke are in a relationship."

"Yes," Slade agreed. "He's known for just about two months, ever since he caught me and Dick feeling each other up on a bridge in London."

"Slade!" Dick yelled, scandalized, his cheeks very quickly turning to a deep shade of pink. Brown and Drake appeared to choke on air. Todd was grinning.

Wayne pursed his lips and then pulled out his cellphone. "Oh my god," Slade heard both Dick and Todd whisper under their breaths, clearly knowing what their father was doing before the rest of them.

 _"Hey, Bruce,"_ the person on the other end of the line said, easily hearable with Slade's enhanced senses. He blinked when he realized that was probably _Superman,_ though his voice was a little softer than when actually out doing the hero shit.  _"What's up?"_

"Nightwing and Deathstroke; did you know?" Wayne asked, his tone leaving nothing up for debate, and Dick once again muttered  _"Oh my god,"_ rubbing a hand down his face.

 _"I..."_ Superman began hesitantly, then sighed and said,  _"Yea, I found out back in March. Don't be madDick wanted to be able to tell you in his own time, and for what it's worth I think Deathstroke actually loves Dick, so try to take a few deep breaths and give it a chance."_

"Talk later," Wayne said, and immediately cut the call off. He looked to Dick and didn't say anything, just frowning, and then the words seemed to burst from within him; "He's tried to _kill_ you, Dick!"

"Cass?" Dick prompted weakly, sending a slightly desperate look at his sister.

Cain rose her chin and signed,  _You once said to Alfred that you saw Deathstroke helping Dick when he didn't need to. Multiple times. You thought maybe Deathstroke wanted to recruit Dick, but also thought there was something else going on._ You _acknowledged that Deathstroke was protecting Dick,_ not _trying to kill him._

Wayne's eye twitched, his irritation at his words being tossed back at him obvious.

Then, certainly surprising Slade, Dick took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Bruce, I know you just want me safe and happy, and you're afraid that my choice of partner is just putting myself in unnecessary danger, and probably asking for trouble. But dad, I've been in this relationship for more than a year now and Slade has done nothing but protect me and stand by my side and make me  _happy._ I understand your frustration, I really do, I just need you to look past it for me. Because this is...it's  _real,_ B, and I want you to be happy for me."

Wayne stared hard at his eldest son for another few moments, then rolled his neck and sighed, the tension slowly leaving his body. He was clearly forcing himself into acceptance, but the fact that he was doing it at all meant a lot.

"I don't like you," Wayne said to Slade, causing the mercenary to raise his eyebrows, "and I don't like the fact that you're dating my son."

"Dad-" Dick began, looking disappointed, but Wayne interrupted, continuing to speak to Slade.

"I think it's highly possible that you're going to hurt him, whether intentionally or not, and being in a relationship with you puts Dick in even more danger than he already is by being a vigilante. I think you're not a good matchyou have made your career out of killing and stealing and a million other horrible crimes, and Dick has done nothing but be an amazing hero his entire life. I think that if this relationship ends, it might just end bloody, and  _my son_ will be the one damaged at the end of it, and you'll go on to live another hundred years of not giving a shit about who you hurt."

"Bruce-" Dick tried again, and the look in his eyes was heartbroken.

 _"But,"_ Wayne continued, "I trust Dick. He's kind and tends to look on the bright side of things but he's not naïve, and he's not stupid. If he says that you protect him and stand by his side and make him happy, then I believe that you do. I'm still concerned, and I'm still not one hundred percent happy with the existence of this relationship, but you're both grown adults and deserve the chance to build something together, if it's what you want.

"Plus," he added, one corner of his mouth quirking up wryly, "you actually came here today knowing what you were probably walking into, so I have to give you props for that." He glanced at his other kids, then back to Slade. "This is normally the part where a parent gives the shovel talk, but I don't think that's necessary, do you? After all, Dick has the  _entire Justice League_ at his back."

Slade smiled, knowing how very true that was. Dick was easy to love, and Slade could imagine that every single hero who met the kid would drop everything to protect him, _especially_ against a villain such as Deathstroke the Terminator.

"I do keep that in mind, yes," Slade agreed, inclining his head. "And two of your children already delivered quite a good speech about the harm that would befall my person if I hurt Dick, so you should be proud."

In the back, the demon child smiled smugly, clearly pleased with the praise, and Cain smirked as well.

"I bet," Wayne said dryly, glancing at the pair of young heroes, and then back to Slade. "I imagine that once word spreads about your relationship, you'll be receiving a  _lot_ of visits from League members who all want you to understand the danger behind hurting Dick."

"Oh my god," Dick said, his eyes wide with horror, because they all knew it was true; if word got out, Slade would have a million heroes on his hands, all giving their own variation of the shovel talk. The thought was a little dizzying, and definitely amusing.

"Right," Slade sighed, "I can imagine that's true."

Dick stepped forward and hugged his father tightly, murmuring a quiet  _"Thank you"_ against his shoulder. When he stepped back, they both offered each other a smile, Wayne's far smaller but the warmth in his expression was still visible.

"Well, I don't think we've reached the comfort level of sitting down to dinner with a mercenary," Dick said, lips quirking in amusement as he looked around at his family, "so I think we're gonna head out."

"Dick-" Wayne began worriedly, but Dick wasn't trying to rush them out of there; he looked relaxed and happy, and his amusement was genuine, not forced.

"I'll see you soon, k?" the vigilante said, and Wayne nodded, his eyes flitting briefly to Slade and then back to his son. "C'mon, squirt, give me a hug," Dick called, his eyes on the demon child.

The fourth Robin scowled, his expression one of ultimate displeasure, but he did get up and give Dick a brief hug before striding stiffly from the room. Dick was grinning, and the smile softened when Brown stepped forward and hugged him as well, saying something in his ear, and then leaving as well.

Drake snorted, shaking his head, and stepped forward. "My relationship seems exceedingly  _normal_ compared to yours now, Dick."

"The fact that you're in a relationship at all, Timmy, is something so odd Goldie's status could never beat it," Todd drawled, and winked at the scowl that his little brother then sent his way.

"Whatever, Jay. See you soon, Dick."

Cain and Todd let them go without actual goodbyes, Todd offering a sloppy salute before the both of them vanished. And, with one last small hug from Dick to Wayne, Slade and his partner departed.

Slade took the driver's seat this time, and then pulled out. Dick tilted his head back and closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath. A small smile was playing at the corners of his lips. He looked happy. It made Slade deeply pleased.

"Time to head home, little bird?" the mercenary asked, and Dick opened his eyes, looking over at him.

"Yea. We can order in, celebrate my lack of disownment."

Slade chuckled, and didn't tell Dick how there had been zero chance of him being kicked out. "Sounds good to me, kid."

And when Dick leaned over, resting his head on Slade's shoulder with an expression of utmost contentment, Slade felt relieved that Wayne had given his approval, because though neither of them needed it, the lack of it would've hurt Dick for a while to come.

Instead, his partner was happy, relaxed, and entirely his. The fact that this night had gone so well made what Slade was planning infinitely easier.

After all, there was a small box waiting back at home with Dick's name on it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it!
> 
> I take requests, by the way. I've received a couple from you wonderful people and everyone is welcome to send some! I can't promise to fulfil them all but I'll certainly give them a shot. Also, if you ever just want to talk/chat, I'm always open!
> 
> My tumblr is _boyblunder-thedarkheir_ and my email is WithTheKeyIsKing@gmail.com
> 
> (Also - "A pair of tights and an inferiority complex" comes from Booster Gold not me, but it is _so accurate_ and I love it _so much_ that I had to include it, and will probably include it in a million works to come)


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